Unexpected Jealousies
by Swa-Sa Masou
Summary: Set in 2x16. Mary becomes jealous when faced with the actuality of Francis going to another despite her earlier assurances of his freedom. Rated for implied and alluded to sexual situations


A/N: This... this is not my best story. BUT it's Frary and cute and fluff so, here you go! I hope some of you enjoy!

"I_ can offer you nothing."_ Francis couldn't believe his ears. He didn't know why he was saying anything that sounded like he was open to being with this woman who wasn't his wife.

He hardly registered the words coming from the mouth of the woman in front of him. She was saying something about having been with boys before but not a man. It felt so nice to be intimately interacting with a woman who was trying to build him up and not tear him to pieces. To have a beautiful woman standing before him who wanted nothing more than to please him.

No, this was Narcisse's niece. She may not have had any other motive, but her uncle sure did. Still… No, this woman was not Mary and was not the woman he loved. He couldn't take her to bed.

His mind flashed to every encounter between him and his wife recently. He internally cringed. She had all but arranged this meeting. Had rebuffed his apology and had told him he was free from his vows to her.

The lust pooled in him as he took in the woman in front of him. Just once. Just one night couldn't hurt, could it? Mary wasn't worrying about him, he reasoned. With that final thought, and shutting off his presence of mind for the time being, he pulled Lady Amelie to him and tasted a woman's lips for the first time in far too long.

* * *

"Louis!" Mary huffed. The two were sharing the space on a couch together in front of a dying fire. He had been kissing her neck and promptly turned his attention back to her lips. She responded enthusiastically for a few kisses and then pushed lightly against his chest. He pulled back and looked questioningly at her. "Louis, what are we doing? I'm married and-" he cut her off with another kiss.

"Francis doesn't need to know and neither does anyone else. We're the only two who are here and we're the only two who will know.

Mary thought about that as he began kissing her again. She thought of the pained expression on Francis' face just from her mention of Condé. She thought of the young woman who had expressed so much interest in Francis. She thought of the two of them together.

Her eyes flew open and she pushed Louis off of her. "I'm sorry." She gasped. The stab of intense jealousy that had spiked through her at the thought of the two of them undressing each other had been wholly unexpected and it confused her. Why would she feel jealousy about it? She had encouraged it. Francis had held out a hand for her to pull him away from Lady Amelie and she had, for all purposes, told him to go with her. But now the idea of the two of them doing what she and Louis were doing angered her. Why?

Fully aware that it was incredibly hypocritical, Mary sat up and cupped Louis' face in her hands. "I'm sorry, I just can't get Francis out of my head." Louis' face fell. "And not even like that. There was a woman, Narcisse's niece and she was clearly vying for Francis' attention earlier today. I don't know why I even care as I sit here with you."

Louis made to kiss her again and she pulled away. He sighed, "Mary, it's just jealousy. When you've had someone for so long, even if you no longer want them, you feel jealousy when someone else has them. It's natural," he leaned toward her again and smiled, "and more importantly it goes away."

Louis leaned forward, but it was Francis' lips she felt. Pushing him away yet again, Mary stood this time. "I'm sorry, I can't do this tonight." She hurried from the room.

* * *

Francis' lips burned as he slid atop the woman- not his wife- a nagging voice in the back of his head kept reminding him. Amelie had already taken off her dress and corset, she was left in hardly anything while Francis had only removed his shirt. She had begun to tug on his laces of his pants between their kisses when the door was thrown open.

The couple on the bed, startled, both turned to look at the door. Francis was expecting it to be his mother and had already begun to move to shield Amelie from the intrusion when he froze.

There, illuminated from the light in the hall, stood Mary.

She stalked into the room and, using her most commanding voice, pointed to Amelie. "You. Out." When she didn't move right away, possibly still stunned, Mary repeated herself, "Out." Another pause, during which Mary picked up the woman's cloak. "Now!" the command in her voice was truly something to behold. Francis had often stood in awe of it whenever she'd used it. But the woman half beneath and half behind him stayed where she was.

Francis realized she was looking at him. Looking to him to tell her what to do. He stood quickly from the bed, anxious to put distance between them. He felt ashamed at what his wife had just walked in on. But she knew this was happening. She had almost forced this to happen. What was going on?

"You heard your queen. Out." She looked crestfallen and Francis had a moment of sympathy for her but he had warned her that he could offer her nothing. She quickly picked up the fallen skirt and top and shrugged into the cloak Mary was holding for her. She threw one last lusty glance over her shoulder as she scampered out the door.

Mary watched her go, an icy expression still on her face. "Brazen, that one."

Pulling his discarded shirt over his head, Francis merely shrugged, "She is Narcisse's niece after all." The silence hung between them. "Mary, why are you here?"

Dragging her eyes from the now closed doors and locking them on Francis, Mary crumpled. She sagged against the back of a sofa and her face fell into her hands. "Oh, Francis, I don't know."

He longed to comfort her, but his confusion at the situation was also bringing out his frustration. "Shall I call her back then? If you don't know why you're here, then I can resume the activity that you were so keen to push me toward earlier today?"

Lifting her head and shaking the hair from her face, Mary sniffled. "There's no need to be cruel." She stated simply.

Scoffing and flopping back down on the bed, Francis lifted himself back up, "yes, because you've never been cruel in the past several days. Not at all."

Mary had her arms wrapped around herself, perhaps trying to physically ward off Francis' verbal attack. "I'm so sorry. I interrupted what I told you to do and I shouldn't have even come."

Unwilling to let this conversation end there, Francis returned to his feet and forced his voice to soften. "Mary, wait. Why did you come? You knew what was likely to happen tonight. You told me over a week ago that you released me from my vows to you and wanted me to find someone and you seemed to want me to be able to move on with Lady Amelie just hours ago. What brought you here?"

Turning back to face Francis and the rest of the room, Mary shuddered. She opened her mouth and closed it again. She took a big, steeling breath and opened it to begin again, "I became unexpectedly jealous when I thought about you and Lady Amelie and I couldn't stand to be in Louis' presence a moment longer so I came here. It's rude, it's hypocritical, and it's ridiculous for all the reasons that you've already stated, but it's true. You are my husband and the thought of you being with another woman turns my stomach."

"Then I suppose we are even. Because that you just stated you were with Condé before coming here makes me ill as well. It's worse that you can stand to be near him and not me." His face broke Mary further.

Her voice quivered as she turned once again for the door. "I should go. I should never have come in the first place." She forced her voice to steady, "I didn't need to see you on top of her and I didn't need to ruin the night for you."

Her jealousy excited him. It meant that she still cared. If he truly meant nothing to her, as she had suggested during their earlier quarrel, then she really wouldn't care if he took another woman to bed. "Or you could stay." He said it gently, giving her every choice in the matter, but oh did he want her to stay.

He could hear the tears in her voice, "Francis, you know I can't."

Picking up his own robe and bringing it to rest upon her shoulders, he stepped away again. "I don't mean in our bed, I just mean here." He reached gently for her hand and stroked his thumb over her knuckles before dropping it again quickly, before she could protest. "Mary, I don't know how we got so far off track that we thought we couldn't even have conversations in the same room. So I can't touch you, but so what? Mary, I didn't fall in love with touching you. I fell in love with you before I had even kissed you. I miss talking with you. I miss just being around you." He held out a hand to her, "Please, stay."

He was dismayed when she opened the door despite his convincing words, but his heart soared as he heard the words, "Will you have someone fetch us some wine, please?" She still ignored his proffered hand, but made to sit down in one of the chairs by the fire. She picked up a poker and began to prod it, bringing more life to it.

The smile that lit Francis' face almost outshone the light of the grate. He sat down, keeping a respectable distance between them.

The conversation was stilted and awkward at first, which stung. The last real awkward conversation they had shared had been all the way back in the tower when she found him making swords. Sure, they had argued an innumerable amount of times since then and their first time together had been awkward, but just conversation always flowed smoothly. Still, he would take what he could get. He could tell that she was trying very hard to avoid a topic that would lead to another argument.

Once the wine arrived, both started to loosen their tongues. By the time they had almost emptied the decanter, they had been laughing with each other for some time. He was thrilled. He had missed her laughter.

Mary grew drowsy as the wine ran out and their talking died down. She nodded off in the chair and Francis was left with a few choices: wake her, leave her in the chair, or try to carefully move her to the bed while he took his place back on the divan. He mulled over his options and decided he really only liked one of them and he ever so carefully lifted her, savoring the feel of her weight in his arms, and deposited her on the bed they used to share. He realized too late that she might become upset that she was in the bed, curled in the blankets that he had been about to take another woman under, but he wasn't going to risk moving her again.

He sat down by the dying fire and watched his wife sleep, feeling hopeful about their future.

If only he could get rid of Condé...

A/N: One-shot. It is complete despite the slight cliff-hanger ending.


End file.
